


Śūraṅgama

by Pseudothyrum



Series: The Discoverie of Witchcraft [5]
Category: Constantine (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms, The Question (Comics)
Genre: Big Ice Cream, Case Fic, Crossover, Demons, Gen, I scream you scream we all scream "lord help us it's the return of Big Ice Cream", Nick Necro is a dick, Nick Necro more like Dick Necro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 08:17:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9313181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pseudothyrum/pseuds/Pseudothyrum
Summary: Two parties seeking revenge on Question and Constantine come calling. Question would much rather be sleeping. Constantine just wishes people would stop kidnapping him all the time.





	

Charlie wakes slowly to the sound of John Constantine’s voice. 

“Oi,” says Constantine, “wake up! Charlie!” Charlie rolls over and rubs his eyes, glancing down at the bottom of his bed where a translucent Constantine is standing, arms crossed and foot tapping.

“Shouldn’t you be in England?” Charlie asks, yawning. 

“I tried, didn’t I,” says Constantine exasperatedly, “but never made it to the plane, love. Some old friends of ours saw fit to snatch me right off the street. Made me miss my plane and all,” he sighs mournfully. Finally fully awake, Charlie sits up in concern

“You got kidnapped by Big Ice Cream _again_?” Constantine smirks. 

“Yeah, well, they offered me a free cone, and I am but a man,” he shrugs, “anyways, it’s not like it’s hard to get away from these wankers, I just thought I should let you know, in case--” he cuts off suddenly and whirls to the left. He looks, for the first time that Charlie can remember, genuinely terrified, “Shit!” Constantine backs away across the room, “Ni--!” He vanishes with a slight pop. Charlie stares at the place he was in for a long, silent moment, hoping that maybe he’ll re-materialize. He doesn’t, and Charlie begins to fish around in his discarded clothes to hunt down his phone. Just as he wrestles it from the pocket of a pair of jeans, it rings. John’s number. 

“Hello?” he says

“Good morning, Mr. Sage,” says the voice on the other end, a cool and crisp woman’s voice, “Or would you prefer The Question?” Vic closes his eyes and breathes, seeking his centre. 

“What do you want?” he asks, voice flat, betraying nothing. 

“As I’m sure you’ve gathered, we have something very important to you, someo--”

“You have John Constantine, yes,” he says, mildly irritated.

“Oh,” she sounds taken aback, “yes, well, I am calling to inform you that you work for us now, or else we will be forced to take out our... displeasure on Mr. Constantine.” Vic laughs out loud. 

“Right, like I’m worried. John could walk out of there any time that he wants. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s left already. You might want to just slink back into whatever shadows you came out of before either of us decides to take an interest in you again.” There is a shuffling on the other end of the line, as if the phone is being handed off. 

“Hello, _Charlie_ ,” he has an American accent, an oily, arrogant voice that sends immediate shivers racing up his spine despite its over-polite tone, not least because the man knows his real name, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that. See, I know all of John’s little tricks. You might say I know them... intimately. So you just play by the rules, or we’ll see how easily Johnny can talk his way out of trouble without his tongue.” There is a click as the man on the other end of the phone hangs up, and all Charlie can do is stare at the wall in front of him, dead phone still pressed to his ear. 

***

Nick Necro swaggers into the little cell that Constantine’s captors have been so magnanimous as to provide him, carelessly bouncing Constantine’s mobile on his palm. Nick looks very pleased with himself, which is about par for the course where Nick is concerned, and so cannot be read into too deeply. He takes an unnecessarily long time inspecting Constantine, taking in his hands, firmly tied with both rope and binding spells, then pulling down the gag and running his thumb over the split lip Constantine earned for talking back to the people who had first grabbed him. Constantine refuses to jerk his head away. He feels the cut reopen and start to bleed again. Nick smiles nastily.

“Your precious little hero’s going to come looking for you soon,” Nick says, stepping away and beginning to pace in what he no doubt believes is a menacing way. 

“Who’s that, then?” Constantine asks, letting his head tilt backwards insolently, “Batman?” Nick snorts. 

“As if you’d have Batman’s number in your phone.”

“Nah, ‘course not,” Constantine grins, “he stopped returning my calls ages ago. Pretty sure he takes all his messages in the form of giant bloody spotlights on top of police headquarters these days anyways.” He spits some blood out so it lands at Nick’s feet, then makes eye contact with him so he knows it was deliberate. Nick’s face contorts immediately in rage at the disrespect. In two short strides he is holding Constantine by the neck, fingers digging into the flesh below his jaw. 

“You can act like you don’t care all you want Johnny boy, but I’ve been watching you, and I know that you do.” He leans in so their faces are practically touching. Constantine struggles desperately to keep from blacking out, and to keep the effort from registering on his face. “Your dear, sweet Charlie is going to die by inches,” Nick growls, “and you’re going to be there to watch every second. And when he’s begging for you to save him, I’m going to make sure you have to look him in the eyes and tell him that it’s all. Your. Fault.” He pushes Constantine away, making the chair he is in rock dangerously and almost tip backwards. Nick’s face is immediately smooth again, his small, sardonic grin firmly in place, and he adjusts his cuffs like he hadn’t just lost control of himself. 

“It’s great to see you again, John,” he says as he walks out of the room. “Oh,” he pauses in the doorway, “and if you try that cute little astral projection trick again... well, let’s just say that your boy doesn’t need all his fingers to read the news.” With that, he is gone

***  
“Hello, Tot,” Question says, creeping into the kitchen as quietly as he can. Tot doesn’t jump, doesn’t even look up from the tea he is pouring. 

“Hi Charlie. The front door too good for you these days?” 

“I’m trying to avoid being seen, I was a little worried that you’d been abducted.” 

“Abducted? Me? Who’d want to abduct an old man?” Tot turns around and leans against the counter, calmly blowing on his tea. 

“Have you seen any suspicious ice cream vans in the neighborhood, Tot?” Question asks. 

“You mean like the one that’s been sitting across the street for two days and keeps chasing children off whenever they try to buy anything?” Tot asks, taking a sip of tea. 

“Yeah, like that, for example.” Tot gestures towards the front window, where the blinds are pulled down. Question carefully peeks through the slats to see an ice cream van sitting directly opposite Tot’s house. A bearded figure sits in the driver’s seat, blatantly watching the house with a pair of binoculars. 

“So wait, did someone get kidnapped? Was it Myra? Is she okay?” 

“No,” Question says absently, trying to work out the best angle of approach, “It’s not Myra. I already checked on her, and on Jackie. They’re fine.”

“Somebody else got kidnapped? Is it another lady friend of yours?” Question sighs and leans his head against the wall beside the window. There is a practiced nonchalance to his voice, Question can practically picture Tot wiggling his eyebrows suggestively behind him.

“This isn’t really the time to be nosy, Tot.”

“Nosy, Charlie? I’m hurt! I’m just trying to understand the situation. So I can help.” 

“I’ll bet. Can you maybe stay away from the windows for a few minutes? I’m going to see if I can interest our friend in the van in a chat.” 

“All right, but if he shoots up the front of my house, you’re paying for it.” 

***

“Hey,” says Constantine, “it’s Freddie and Kevin, right?” The man standing beside the door stiffens, and looks around as if hoping that maybe Constantine is addressing somebody else in the empty room. The woman, for her part, begins nervously biting her nails and shifting her eyes from side to side

“Yeah,” Freddie says, then slams his mouth shut and slaps a hand over it as though that will take the word back. Constantine suppresses a smile. 

“Let me guess, you’re not supposed to talk to me?” Freddie nods, apparently not having absorbed that no communication includes not answering questions nonverbally. Constantine frowns exaggeratedly. “Surely you can give us a fag, though,” 

“No!” says Kevin, “That’s what got us into trouble in the first place, letting you have cigarettes,” she pouts, “they docked our pay for a whole week after that.” Constantine gives her his most winning smile. 

“I’m sorry about that, luv,” she blushes slightly at the term of endearment, which he makes a note of for later, “but we were gambling then, surely there’s nothing in the rules about just letting me smoke. I don’t need the lighter.”

“D’you promise?” asks Freddie, having apparently abandoned the rules altogether. 

“’Course I do, mate,” Constantine says brightly, “you don’t even have to untie my hands.” Freddie, seeming mollified, begins fishing in his pockets, while Kevin relaxes her stance. Freddie gets as far as putting the cigarette in Constantine’s mouth before the door flies open. Surreptitiously, Constantine drops the cigarette into his lap. 

“You _idiots_ ,” Nick yells, as Freddie fumbles several cigarettes out by accident and Kevin drops her gun on the floor in surprise, “what did I say about speaking to him?”

“Uh...” says Kevin, and then immediately seems to regret it as Nick rounds on her, “you said not to?” Nick walks over to her, smooth and graceful, and bends down so his face is inches from hers. 

“That’s right, that’s exactly what I told you. And what were you just doing?” 

“Talking to him,” she barely manages to squeak, pressing herself flat against the wall. Nick lingers for a long moment before spinning on his heel and stalking over to Freddie. 

“And _you_. Did you give him anything?” Freddie shakes his head desperately. 

“N-no sir, he asked for a cigarette, but...” he trails off and gestures at the cigarettes that have rolled all over the floor. When Nick looks down Constantine takes the opportunity to nudge the cigarette into a pocket. 

“Right.” Nick breathes deeply and turns to face Constantine with an oily smile, “you’re coming with me. Time to meet the boss.”

***

“Hello Troy.” Troy, gratifyingly, does jump when Question slides into the passenger seat of his ice cream van. He drops his binoculars into his lap and begins to stammer something about this being his route. Question silences him with a raised finger. “You gave me up to the Vendors, Troy.” 

“Oh god,” Troy blubbers, “oh god, please don’t steal my face or whatever it is you do.” He cowers against the door. 

“I was actually going to ask for your help. Or we could try the face thing. Your choice, Troy.” 

“Yeah, we can do the help thing, man, whatever you want, I’ll tell you literally anything you want to know.”

“The man who was kidnapped--”

“Nothing to do with me,” Troy interjects, “I was sent here to watch this house in case you came here. They just told me to watch.”

“And what were you supposed to do if I came here?” 

“Report back. B-but I didn’t! I didn’t see you arrive!”

“And I guess you won’t mind taking me to their new headquarters?”

“I mean... if we have to. Is it cool if I stay in the van, though? Plausible deniability, you know. I don’t want to lose this job, I need the health insurance. My wife just had a baby.” He beams.

“Right,” says Question, “fine, whatever. I just need to pick some things up from inside, and then we’ll go.”

***

Constantine lets himself be dragged along the twisting corridors, his legs largely refusing to respond after an hour spent tied to an exceedingly uncomfortable chair. He doesn’t bother trying to make conversation with the two brought in to replace Freddie and Kevin, who between them seem to have about the personality of a particularly dim brick wall. Nick, for his part, merely stalks along beside them, occasionally casting triumphant glances in Constantine’s direction, but saying nothing. 

The room they take him to is unlike his previous experience with Big Ice Cream, in that only one person is in it, a woman whom he vaguely recalls is named Rocky Road, and it is well-lit. Rocky Road is pacing the length of the room, worrying at one of her nails with her teeth. She glances up when he’s dragged into the room and gestures vaguely in the direction of a chair, which he is dropped into unceremoniously, landing awkwardly on his still-bound hands. He grunts and shifts until he is stilled by Nick’s fingers digging into his shoulder. He looks up at Rocky Road, who has stopped pacing and is glaring daggers at Nick. 

“Mr. Constantine,” she says, without looking away from Nick, who is gazing back impassively, “I’ve had you brought here to... persuade your friend, the Question, to fall in line. I am assured that your capture will put an end to his meddling in our affairs.” 

“Well, it’s a beautiful dream, innit?” he says, grinning at her. She frowns uncertainly, but plows on. 

“We have already made contact to inform him that we are holding you, we are going to call him again to make our demands clear. If required you will speak to him to assure him that you are alive and being treated well. Anything further, including warnings or clues about our location, well, Mr. Necro assures me he can make it very painful for you.” The fingers on Constantine’s shoulder tighten further, and he doesn’t quite suppress a wince. 

“Seems like an awful lot of work to go through for a bloke I barely know,”

“Barely know?” Rocky Road scoffs, opening a file that was sitting on the table behind her, “it says here you’ve accompanied him on three known investigations, with one further unconfirmed that took place in Kentucky, somehow.” 

“Not to mention that you’ve barely left his apartment in a week,” Nick mutters darkly. Constantine shuffles around on his seat so he can look up at Nick properly. 

“You really were watching me, then? Did you try this with Zatanna?” Nick doesn’t answer, but shifts his feet, and Constantine laughs, “You did, you bloody idiot! And let me guess, she kicked your arse?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, turning back to Rocky Road, “I wouldn’t listen to this one, luv, that’s his jealous mind talking. Despite what he thinks, I can bunk on somebody’s couch for a week without shagging ‘em. You wouldn’t _believe_ the things he accused me best mate Chas of doing.” He stops speaking as Nick moves his hand threateningly to the back of his neck. 

“Yes, well,” says Rocky Road, seeming flustered, “Mr. Necro, we’ll be speaking of your apparent conflict of interest later. For now, we are on a tight schedule, so if you wouldn’t mind,” she picks up Constantine’s mobile and, after a few precise taps, holds it to her ear. In tense silence, they wait.

***

Tot pops up in Troy’s window before either of them have the chance to move. 

“Your phone’s ringing,” he says, holding out the device in question, which is buzzing and tinnily blaring London Calling. He arches an eyebrow. “Who’s John Constantine?” 

“Not now, Tot,” Question says, taking the phone, “Hello?”

“Hello, Mr. Sage,” it is the same even, calm woman’s voice he heard before, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes at the obviousness of her attempt to unsettle him. 

“Let me guess,” he says, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “you’ve given me enough time to stew and it’s time to start making demands?” She tsks calmly. 

“Let’s not be vulgar, Mr. Sage. You know very well who we are and what we can do. We’ve contracted a powerful sorcerer,” her voice barely skips on the word, but she clearly still doesn’t believe it; Question can’t blame her, “to keep your friend in line. Don’t make us hurt him.” 

“Let me talk to him,” Question says, voice deadly calm, “give him the phone so I can make sure he’s okay.” He hears the shuffle of the phone changing hands. 

“Alright, Question?” Constantine sounds completely unconcerned by his surroundings, which doesn’t surprise Question much. He pushes down the clenching feeling in his chest. 

“Are you on speaker phone? Can they hear me?” he asks, instead of asking the inane questions about whether or not they’re treating him right. 

“No,” Constantine says, voice light and airy. He sounds like he’s smirking at someone and, knowing John, he probably is. 

“Do you trust me?” 

“Yes,” Constantine’s voice, for once, sounds completely serious.

“The guy who has you, the creepy one who they had talk to me earlier... would he kill you, or let them kill you? If I don’t go along with what they say,” Question asks. 

“Nah, he doesn’t have the bottle, love, never quite got over m--” the phone is snatched away mid-word, and Question can hear someone talking angrily in the background as the phone passes back to Rocky Road. 

“So you see, Mr. Sage, he is alive and well, and remains so at our discretion. If you want to see him again then you will follow our orders, do you understand?”

“No,” Question says, “it’s fine, you can keep him.”

“I, uh, I’m sorry, what?” Rocky Road sounds completely flustered, like she cannot grasp what he’s just told her. 

“I said,” Question says, slowly so she’ll understand this time, “that you can keep him. I barely know the guy, he let me get possessed by a demon one time, I don’t owe him much.” Rocky Road just splutters. 

“Have fun,” he says sweetly, and hangs up the phone.

***

“He hung up on me,” the woman is staring at her phone in disbelief, and her confusion finally draws Nick’s attention away from trying to threaten Constantine with various dismemberments. “He told me that we could keep him,” she gestures at Constantine as though it weren’t already obvious, “and then he hung up on me.” Nick laughs cruelly. 

“Looks like it’s not quite mutual, eh Johnny?” 

“Oh yeah, I’m right gutted I am,” Constantine says. Nick narrows his eyes, opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by Rocky Road throwing her hands up. 

“Great! We go through all the trouble of hiring you to deal with this pest,” she ignores the offended cry from Constantine, “then you go and kidnap him when we _clearly_ said to just rough him up a bit, and now he’s completely useless to us!” She lets her head fall into her hands. 

“Listen, they’re _obviously_ planning something. What do you think they were talking about on the phone there, the weather? That faceless idiot’s going to come storming in here to rescue him,” he jerks a thumb at Constantine, who puts on his most innocent expression, “you just have to show him that you’re serious.” Rocky Road finally lifts her head out of her hands. 

“You’re right,” she breathes, “kill him, Necro.” 

“Here now,” says Constantine, “that’s a bit drastic.” 

“If you’re right and they’re up to something, then killing him sends a message that we aren’t playing around and neatly puts an end to that plot. If they aren’t up to something and he really is as useless as he appears,” her eyes do not even flicker down to Constantine when he objects, “then we have rid ourselves of a liability.” 

“It isn’t easy to just _kill_ John Constantine,” Nick says, “he always finds some way out.” 

“Then it’s a good thing we hired you, the man who claimed that he could easily defeat John Constantine.” Constantine scoffs.

“Yeah, like those times you beat me by getting trapped in Hell twice, right Nicky,” he turns and gives Nick his broadest grin. Nick scowls and draws a sigil on Constantine’s forehead with his finger, causing his jaw to spasm painfully closed. 

“I’ll deal with him,” Nick says, and Constantine is again hoisted up between two silent men. 

“I’m sorry, did he say Hell?” asks Rocky Road, seeming faintly horrified, “Twice?” 

“He’s lying,” Nick waves his hand dismissively. 

“Why would he say he sent you to Hell twice? That’s an oddly specific lie, Mr. Necro.” 

“Because he’s an idiot,” Constantine can practically hear him grinding his teeth. 

“Does that mean he’s defeated you twice?” Constantine wishes desperately to be able to move his jaw, and settles for a derisive scoffing sound that draws the attention of both Rocky Road and the increasingly murderous Nick. Rocky Road turns her attention to one of the men holding Constantine’s arms. 

“Take him outside and wait there. Mr. Necro and I need a moment to... discuss.” Constantine is dragged struggling from the room, longing with every fibre of his being to bear witness to whatever bollocking is coming Nick’s way. He hopes that Nick doesn’t just kill her, she is entirely too much fun. 

He spends what feels like forever standing in the hallway outside the room, hearing only the faintest sound of occasionally raised voices. The two goons hold him but otherwise do not engage with him. He whiles away the time by rubbing the sigil off of his head onto one guard’s shoulder, to the man’s brief but gratifying confusion, and working his jaw slowly, painfully open. He estimates that maybe twenty minutes have passed and he’s just about managed to open his mouth when Nick storms out of the room without pausing to look in their direction. The two men hesitate for a moment, then drag Constantine forwards, following Nick down the hallway.

***

“You got possessed by a demon?” Tot asks, trailing after Question as he marches Troy into the house, “Somebody let you get possessed by a demon and now you are dating this person?” 

“Dating’s kind of a strong word,” Question says absently, pushing Troy into one of the chairs around the table. 

“They did spend a week together in his apartment,” Troy says conspiratorially. 

“Troy,” Question says, regretting, not for the first time, that the mask prevents him from making any truly threatening facial expressions, “remember what you said about helping me?” He waits for Troy to nod. “This is not helping.” Troy looks suitably abashed. He turns to Tot. “I’m going to throw together some things so I can sneak into Big Ice Cream’s headquarters. Please resist the urge to gossip about my personal life.” To their credit, it takes until he reaches the top of the stairs for the whispering to start. Question sighs heavily. 

***

Having spent the entire walk gingerly easing the cigarette out of his pocket, Constantine struggles to keep it pinched between two fingers as he is again thrown into the same exceedingly uncomfortable chair as before. The two goons who had been carrying him arrange themselves at strategic points around the room and proceed to do their best to ooze menace, while the bearded one standing by the door merely looks supremely bored by the proceedings. Constantine feels he connects deeply with this one. After a moment, he realizes that Nick has been ranting this entire time and, with effort, he tunes in. 

“—Not enough that you spit in my face every time I offer you a way back to where we used to be,” Nick is pacing furiously, occasionally waving his arms in the air, “but you keep moving on! You just keep moving on with everybody you meet. Maybe because you realize that nobody can replace what you and me and Zatanna had. Not even some two-bit news anchor from the worst city in Ameri--” Nick’s rambling is halted rather suddenly when the man standing by the door steps forward and punches him in the side of the head. Nick crumples immediately, and the other two goons stare at each other in confusion. 

“Did you just sucker punch Nick Necro?” Constantine asks. 

***

Question leaves Troy tied up in the back of his own ice cream van, as per his request to look as uninvolved as possible should Question’s plan backfire and the Vendors discover who led Question to their hideout. He walks purposefully through the halls, nodding at the occasional people who pass him, nervously smoothing down his false beard every time someone looks at him twice. It is pure coincidence when he sees a dark-haired man trailed by two large, vacant-eyed men dragging someone between them. For a horrible, breathless moment he thinks that they’ve found Troy, that they’ll be coming for him soon. Then the man between them shifts, he sees that it is John, and he can breathe again. He ducks into a doorway and, when they have passed, slips in behind them, trailing them to a room a few doors along.

The dark-haired man immediately begins to talk quite loudly, apparently feeling the need to clearly and firmly explain every single one of Constantine’s character flaws to him in exhaustive and colorful detail. After the first few emphatic points he does his best to tune the ranting out. Focus on getting Constantine out first, deal with Big Ice Cream and this dick later. 

“--You just destroy everything and every person you touch--“

He eyes the two guards and considers if he could take them both down without the man noticing. He does seem very in love with the sound of his own voice, maybe he’ll be so focused on yelling at Constantine that he won’t notice that everybody else in the room is getting punched.

“--Could have ruled the world together--”

He could try to take the dark-haired man down first, but if he’s powerful enough to have kept Constantine in place, he might have some nasty surprises lined up. Question really doesn’t know enough about magic. He has to be cautious, not allow his tendency towards impulsivity to ruin the single advantage he’s managed to claw back so far. 

“--Not even some two-bit news anchor from the worst city in Ameri--”

He is lashing out almost before he can register what is happening, and then the dark-haired man is lying crumpled at his feet. 

“Did you just sucker punch Nick Necro?” Constantine asks, sounding both delighted and slightly incredulous. 

“Is that his name?” Question asks, shaking his hand lightly, “That’s a bit try-hard.” He looks down at the prone figure appraisingly. “He seems like a dick.” 

“You have no idea,” Constantine says, his uncharacteristically bright expression settling back into his accustomed smirk as he rolls his eyes. It is at this point that Question’s attention is drawn away by the two guards rousing themselves from their stupor. He attacks them quickly, incapacitating one before he even manages to raise his fists, and taking the other out after the man attempted a particularly indelicate lunge. When they are down he turns to face Constantine, who is still sitting in the chair.

“Are you... going to get up?” Question asks, smoothing back some hair that had come loose in the struggle. Constantine shrugs, barely impeded at all by his still-bound hands.

“Just enjoying the view,” he grins lasciviously. Question folds his arms. 

“You can’t get out on your own, can you?”

“Not as such, no,” he grins, clearly unconcerned, “could you be a love and break the seal on the ropes here?” He spins on the chair to bare his bound hands. 

“The red thing?” Question asks, stepping closer cautiously. 

“Yeah, just snap it in two. Don’t put your face too close to it. It’d be a shame if you burnt your eyebrows off now you’ve gone to the bother of acquiring some.” Question runs his finger over the complicated design etched into the wax, then rolls the pieces of rope it is plastered onto until it cracks down the center. The wax circle emits a loud popping sound as it breaks, and several sparks fly out. Constantine shakes his hands, and the ropes slide free. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Question says, moving towards the door, “I called the cops about twenty minutes ago and, with their usual response times, they should be here soon.”

“Hold on,” Constantine says, falling to his knees next to the unconscious Nick, “I can’t just leave-- ah!” he pulls his cell phone out of Nick’s pocket and rises, head bent over the screen, “Bet you anything the wanker’s deleted Chas’ number again,” he mutters, half to himself.

“Can we maybe confirm that as we leave?” Question asks, eyeing the twitching henchmen. 

“Alright, alright, keep your beard on,” Constantine looks Question up and down as he passes him to go through the doorway, “that’s a good look for you, by the way. And don’t think I missed how you only punched him out when he was insulting Hub City, and not me.” 

“I didn’t--”

“Don’t deny it Question, you demean us both.” Constantine heads purposefully down the hallway, and Question, taking a last glance at the slowly stirring Nick Necro, hurries down the hall after him. 

***

Despite Constantine’s increasingly amused protestations, Charlie removes the beard as they walk through the twisting corridors of Big Ice Cream’s newest headquarters, muttering under his breath about how itchy it is. In the distance Constantine can hear the faint sound of sirens approaching. 

“A whole thirty minutes after you call them,” he says, glancing at Charlie, who is rubbing his newly bare jaw, “it’s a very impressive emergency response time.” Charlie scowls at him, but is interrupted before he can speak by a wordless shriek from ahead of them.

“Stop!” Rocky Road bursts into the corridor and places herself firmly in the centre of it, shaking hands clutched around a gun, “How do you keep doing this, how do you keep finding us and ruining us so easily?” 

“I mean, you’re not exactly subtle,” Charlie shrugs, “the old, abandoned ice cream factory on the edge of town? I’m honestly a little insulted that you apparently think that’s beyond me.” Charlie inches forwards until his body is largely in front of Constantine’s own, in between him and the gun. Constantine is torn between rolling his eyes and at least appreciating the gesture. She is waving the gun pretty wildly at this point, so even with Charlie mostly blocking him Constantine isn’t too sure he’ll manage to avoid getting shot if she actually works out how to pull the trigger.

“We just wanted to bring a little stability to this godforsaken city,” she is saying, running a hand through her already wild hair, “God knows the politicians are no use.” She turns to glance down the corridor behind her, where the sound of people shouting from somewhere deeper in the building can be heard. She closes her eyes for a moment, but snaps them open before Charlie can more than take a step towards her. “This isn’t the end, Sage. I am going to destroy you. I am going to kill John Constantine and I am going to destroy your life.” She says it so simply, with such conviction, that Constantine can almost believe it. 

Charlie says something in response, inches further in front of him, but Constantine isn’t listening. His attention is drawn by a sudden taste in the air, an electric prickling on the back of his neck. Batteries, smoke, a faint hint of cinnamon. He grabs Charlie’s sleeve, but it’s too late. With a sudden, resounding crack the air in front of Charlie shimmers and splits, the fabric of reality groaning as Nick Necro steps through. Electricity crackles around it, occasionally throwing off vicious, random spikes. Through the heat haze at the edges of the split Constantine sees Rocky Road drop the gun and spin on her heel, fleeing. Nick seizes Charlie’s lapels and hauls him towards the portal, destabilizing him so he pitches forward and sprawls on the floor in the room beyond. Nick turns to Constantine and grins.

“Well, well,” he says, eyes alight with malice, “would you like to come along, Johnny? Or do you want to leave dear Charlie and I to get to know one another a little better? Your choice.” He steps back, one arm behind his back and the other extended towards the room, inviting. Constantine sighs, and steps through the slash in the air. 

***

Question draws himself up till he is sitting on his heels, eying Nick Necro warily as he stalks towards the center of the room, trailed by Constantine. He hesitates to leap to attack again, he doubts just punching the guy will work a second time. He seeks his center and prepares to bide his time, willing to put his faith in John to get them out of this, now that they are very firmly in his territory. The slash in the air does not make nearly as much fanfare in closing as it did when it opened; a soft sound, like glass shattering in another room, the unmistakable scent of vanilla and wood smoke, and it is gone. Question feels a brief tug of worry for the loss of this avenue of escape. 

“I think Charlie has the right idea, don’t you, John?” Necro asks in a sickly sweet voice. Question cringes somewhat to hear him speak his name. John folds his arms, clearly defiant, and opens his mouth to speak. “None of that,” Necro says, slapping Constantine’s chest and leaving a red circle that Question thinks, for a moment, might be blood, before recognizing it as another little wax seal. Constantine looks down at his chest, then collapses to his knees, mouth clicking closed. “No talking to distract me, no clever little tricks that will pull you both out of this by the skin of your teeth. I know how you work, John, and it isn’t going to work this time.” John says nothing, glaring up at Necro, who grins down at him, then crouches so he and Constantine are level.

“Remember what I said about dying by inches?” he says, softly, reaching out to touch John’s face. Question launches himself forward in one sudden movement, outstretched hands nearly reaching Necro before he passes through something invisible, something that feels like a thousand pins stabbing into his flesh at once. It saps his momentum and he collapses, twitching, to the floor. Dazed, feeling as though he is on fire from the pain, he blinks several times to clear his vision as Necro comes to stand over him. 

“So predictable,” he tsks, “I don’t know why you’d go in for all this masked heroics shit John, there’s just no subtlety.” He kicks Question hard in the stomach, a pain tripled by the burning, and, gesturing, Necro hoists him up with some unseen magic, back onto his knees, dragging him so he is facing Constantine. Question looks at Constantine, fighting down nausea and trying to regain the ability to breathe, searching for some hint of what he should do. Constantine isn’t looking at him, his gaze is fixed unwaveringly on Necro. 

“You know,” Necro says conversationally, “there’s not a lot to do in Hell but talk. As I’m sure you know, Johnny, there are a lot of people down there who curse your name. But this one,” He puts his hand on Question’s head, aggravating the prickling, painful feeling left behind by the wall of needles, “there are a few who know his name too. One in particular had a lot to say about him.” Question mentally flicks through a list of enemies who could conceivably be in Hell, but comes up short on anyone who could make Necro grin as gleefully as he is now. “I’m sure you remember Mastema, hmm Charlie?” He clearly expects a big reaction, but John’s face is as blank as Question is sure his own is. After a long, uncomfortable silence, Question speaks. 

“Uh, actually no, I don’t. What’s a... Masema?” Necro scowls, fingers tightening in Question’s hair. Constantine is looking between them, and then a horrified light comes on in his eyes. He begins to struggle against his invisible bonds, making muffled noises as if desperate to speak. For the first time, Question feels an icy stab of fear deep in his gut. Necro laughs. 

“Clearly Johnny remembers, and I’m sure you will too. He was sharing your head, Charlie, and he’s just itching for a chance to come back for a visit.” 

***

There is a long, terrible moment of silence that seems to stretch for hours as Nick calls Mastema into Charlie’s body. It is still completely silent when Charlie’s eyes roll back in his head, and he pitches onto his side and starts convulsing. Constantine shifts, tries to lean towards him as if he might be able to help, even immobilized as he is. Nick squats down next to him, grin broad and friendly. 

“I wouldn’t, John,” he says merrily, “in just a few minutes he’s going to try to tear you apart with his bare hands. No need to rush that.” Charlie flops onto his stomach, his flailing limbs nearly connecting with Nick, who stands up and shies backwards, laughing. Apparently exerting a great force of will, Charlie reaches up and grabs for Constantine, making a horrible gasping sound that might almost have been an attempt to speak. He makes contact with Constantine’s shirt and, through monumental effort, drags himself forward so his upper body is halfway in Constantine’s lap. His hand remains fisted tightly in Constantine’s shirt, fingers flexing and spasming along with the rest of his body.

“I see why you like him, John,” Nick says, “such spirit! It’ll be amazing to watch Mastema snuff that out, won’t it?” Constantine doesn’t look up from Charlie’s shaking body, mind gone totally blank at the realization that he’s about to lose someone else, that he’s going to have to watch somebody else he has gotten close to die. He is so focused on his distress that he almost doesn’t notice that the magical strictures on him have melted away. He glances down at his own chest, where Charlie’s hand is clenched firmly over the seal. He looks into Charlie’s face, shocked, and Charlie winks, smirking a little before throwing himself off of Constantine’s lap and into another paroxysm of spasms and pained gasping that draws Nick’s attention away from Constantine. 

Gleefully Nick stalks over to Charlie and crouches down by his head, speaking loudly so that Constantine will hear. Moving as subtly as he can, Constantine palms the cigarette.

***

Time seems to slow, and everything goes completely silent as Question braces himself for the demon’s arrival. It starts, as before, with whispering. Question blocks it out, even as he allows his body to be affected, and begins to chant. 

_Chr two ni_

He feels his body collide with the floor, feels himself start to convulse, but he ignores this also, focuses the whole of his mind on the mantra.

_E jye la_

He feels the demon scrabbling at the edges of his mind for purchase, trying to sink its claws into his mind. Feels it slide away, shrieking and vicious, feels it dwindle until his mind is nearly his own again.

_Mi li ju_

He begins to move his body, the violent spasms only partially feigned as the demon, noticing that he has slacked his grip on the mantra in order to move, redoubles its efforts to control him. 

_Bwo... li dan... le ye_

He reaches Constantine, reaches up and feels for the seal that is holding him there, and breaks it in one hand, crumbling it in half-voluntary twitches. He looks up at Constantine, whose devastated expression morphs to one of surprise. He winks at him, then pitches himself off of his lap, as far away as he can get.

_Ning jye li_

He can feel the demon losing its purchase as he retakes his own mind, but he allows his body to continue moving, to seem to be in pain, so that Necro will approach him. Predictably he does, kneeling down next to Question’s head. As he does so Question feels the last vestige of the demon pushed from his mind, returned to wherever it had come from. He hopes, anyways. He probably should have checked with John about this sort of thing. From the corner of his eye he sees John moving. He has to keep Necro’s attention, play to his vanity. 

“Please,” Question rasps, trying to sound as pathetic as possible, “please.” Necro smiles kindly.

“I guess Mastema likes to really make you feel it, huh? You know, I’m sorry about all this. No hard feelings, yeah? If anything, I’m just speeding up the process. I’m sure John hasn’t bothered to warn you, but you’d be dead soon anyways. Doing it this way means he gets destroyed too. Trust me, a month from now you’d be thanking me for that.” He pats Question on the cheek, and Question fights the urge to punch him, or at least pull away. He focuses on looking as though he is almost taken over, rolling his eyes back. “Let me talk to him for one more second, Mastema,” Necro says, then leans in close and takes Question’s face in his hands, waiting for his eyes to refocus. “When I said no hard feelings? I lied. Fuck you. Fuck you for thinking you had any right to take what’s mine. I can very literally say that I’ll see you in H--” He suddenly cuts off and jerks away from Question, dropping his head to land painfully on the hard wood of the floor. “Johnny,” he says warningly, “what did you--” Question takes the opportunity to land a series of thoroughly satisfying blows on Necro, dropping him, groaning, to the floor. He plants a foot on Necro’s back, keeping him down. He looks over at John, who is still kneeling, and holding a lit cigarette between the middle two fingers of his left hand, palm and the smoldering end of cigarette facing the ceiling. 

He is about to ask what’s happening when the room shudders. A sound like a bell ringing in the distance echoes through the room, tolling three times before fading. Suddenly, a tall creature swathed in black is standing in front of Constantine. Pale and gaunt, he has three long, twisted horns protruding from his head, and a third eye glitters in the center of his forehead. A tail swishes irritably behind him, and cloven hooves peek out from under his robe. Incongruously, he is wearing glasses, with a third lens welded above the other two. He is holding a clipboard in the crook of a spindly arm and tapping a ballpoint pen on the sheaf of papers.

“John Constantine,” he says, his voice dry, “I’m rather an esoteric choice for you. I’ll admit, I came mostly for the novelty of it. I hope you know that I’m not interested in that tatty little scrap you call a soul, let alone making any deals with you for it. Why have you called?”

“Funnily enough, Lucifuge, I do think I’ve got something you want,” Constantine jerks his thumb at Necro, who squirms a little under Question’s foot, “surely the bosses would hate to hear that you’ve been letting souls escape. Again.” Lucifuge flips several pages on his clipboard, then casts a look at Constantine from under his eyebrows that Question would almost call scared. 

“Yes, well,” he says, haughtily, “I’ll take him with me. There’s no need to speak of this further.” 

“Yeah, no worries mate,” Constantine grins a wide, wicked grin, “but you owe me.” 

***

The room goes still as the portal to Hell finally closes, taking the last of Nick’s colourful and extremely explicit shrieking with it. 

“I was right,” Charlie says, “that guy was a dick. I cannot believe you dated him.” Constantine snorts. 

“Right, like you never went out with someone who was a bit unstable.”

“I’ve dated like three people, and not one of them has ever tried to destroy my life and drag me to Hell.” He says it with a smile, and Constantine laughs, but his heart isn’t really in it. Seeming to sense his mood, Charlie gestures at the door. 

“Should we go? I’d really like to go home and take a shower.” Constantine follows him out into a building completely unlike the factory they were in before, down seven flights of rickety stairs and out into a street that looks nothing like the outskirts of Hub City. 

“Where are we?” Charlie asks, looking up and down the street in confusion. 

“New York,” Constantine says, looking back up at the building where Nick had lived when they had first met. 

“New York?! John, I have to be at work tomorrow!” He throws his hands up in the air, “There’s no chance they’re going to take ‘I got kidnapped by a psychotic warlock with a grudge,’ as an excuse. Not again.” 

“Not a-what?” Charlie just grumbles and starts angrily flicking through his phone. Constantine puts his hand over the screen. “Stop. I have some friends here, they can get you back to Hub City, no problem.”

“Just me?” Charlie asks. 

“C’mon,” Constantine says, not answering, turning and walking towards the bustling street three blocks over. The walk in silence for some time, buffeted by the crowds of New Yorkers and tourists. 

“Nick was right,” Constantine says suddenly, in a rush. 

“What, that you’re still in love with him? Please tell me that isn’t true, I refuse to believe your judgement is _that_ bad.” 

“No, he was right that you’re going to die, or I’m going to find some way to ruin your life. It might be better to just end this now, while we’re still friends, rather than later when you hate me, or are trapped in Hell, or, most likely, both.” Charlie looks at him coolly for a long moment, then grabs him by the front of his shirt and drags him out of the flow of foot traffic into an alleyway. He pushes him up against a wall and holds him there, ignoring the curious glances of passers-by.

“Shut up,” he says when Constantine opens his mouth, “I did not just save you from a dangerous conspiracy, fight off a possession completely on my own, and deal with arguably the worst person I have ever met, just so you can break up with me ‘for my own good.’ You are coming home with me to Hub City and we are getting Chinese takeout for dinner. Understood?” 

“Uh, yes?” Constantine says. Charlie searches his face for a long moment before releasing his grip on Constantine’s shoulders. 

“Good,” he nods once, satisfied, and, taking Constantine’s shoulder, pushes him out of the alleyway. They fall again into silence, Constantine’s mind churning. 

“So,” he says, “how _did_ you manage to exorcise yourself?” 

“After last time I figured it was best to be prepared. There are mantras for everything, you just have to put your mind to it,” Charlie shrugs nonchalantly. 

“That is so hot.” 

“That’s a curious reaction to a failed demonic possession, but alright,” Charlie tries, and fails, to suppress a grin. 

***

Constantine slumps on Charlie’s couch, suddenly filled with a bone-deep weariness. It would seem that being kidnapped by ludicrous secret organizations and having a crazy ex try to kill his... well, to kill Charlie, really takes a toll on a person. He tries to focus, but his mind keeps flashing back to the day’s events, a random series of images and feelings that always seems to end on Charlie. Charlie, winking and smiling at him, just moments after Nick had done his very best to destroy him. 

“I can’t speak for wizards,” Charlie says, sliding onto the couch beside Constantine, “but in my experience it works better if you actually pick up the food, rather than just staring at it insistently.” Constantine tries to think of a clever response, but thinking feels like trudging through thick mud. Food would probably help. He looks back at the containers of Chinese food wordlessly. Charlie laughs, genuine and warm. “You’re right, much better if I get it for you.” He holds out a box, chopsticks already stabbed into the noodles. It’s Constantine’s favourite, though he is completely certain he’s never told Charlie this. Constantine stares at the container, at the hand holding it, follows the arm up to Charlie’s face. He feels his stomach flipping, his heart suddenly racing. 

“I--” You what, Constantine, you berk? Love him? You hardly know each other. You’ve spent less than a week together. You haven’t even slept together. You’re going to end up killing him. And now he’s staring at you expectantly, finish the thought, you moron, “--have to go to London.”


End file.
